


Titus Adirondackus

by HugeAlienPie



Category: O Human Star (Webcomic)
Genre: Awkward Family Gatherings, Canon Genderfluid Character, Canon Jewish Character, Canon Queer Character, Canon Queer Character of Color, Canon Queer Relationship, Canon Trans Character, Future Fic, Multi, Pesach | Passover, Robots, Seder, Synthetic Lifeforms, by which I mean, embarrassing parents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-08
Updated: 2017-12-08
Packaged: 2019-02-11 18:08:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12940827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HugeAlienPie/pseuds/HugeAlienPie
Summary: Titus Trang vs. the Pinsky-Sterling Family Seder of 2022





	Titus Adirondackus

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Perpetual Motion (perpetfic)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/perpetfic/gifts).



> Happy birthday, Perpet, my very dear friend!
> 
> Less than a week before the start of Chanukkah may be a weird time for a Seder fic, but I cannot control the season of my friend's birth. So, happy Channusach (Pesukkah?), one and all.
> 
> Never read Blue Delliquanti's _O Human Star_ , you say? Oh, gentle reader, you are missing out! Synthetic lifeforms! Adorably awkward family! Mystery! More queer characters than you can shake a stick at! You can read the whole danged thing [here](http://ohumanstar.com/chapter/comic/). If you'd prefer to read the fic first, my [love letter to the comic](http://hugealienpie.tumblr.com/post/158965510772/o-human-star-a-love-letter) might give get a sense of what you're wading into.
> 
> This fic makes several assumptions about the future of the OHS characters. The biggest is that the two main couples, Brendan/Alastair and Sulla/Titus, will eventually get their shit together, individually and collectively, which is very much not the case as of this writing. I also take liberties with the Sterling-Pinsky house, even though Delliquanti shows it in loving detail several times throughout the comic, because I have _zero_ spatial perception.
> 
> This fic is possible because of two super-awesome people (besides Perpetual Motion for having a birthday): [gnomi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gnomi/pseuds/gnomi) was so terrific as my Judaism sensitivity and fine detail reader. [the_wordbutler](https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_wordbutler/pseuds/the_wordbutler) was a sounding board, cheerleader, and company-keeper through the 11th hour. I am indebted to you both.
> 
> The Vietnamese in here is aaaaall Google Translate. If any Vietnamese speakers are interested in correcting any errors, I am all ears.

Titus Trang has never been to a Passover Seder. You shouldn't assume; just because his surname is Trang doesn't automatically mean he's never taken part in a Jewish holiday celebration. But he'll give you this one for free: Titus Trang has never been to a Passover Seder.

He _has_ probably researched Passover Seders more thoroughly than any non-Jew in Minnesota's history. As near as he can tell, the event has three main themes:

  1. The avoidance of leavening;
  2. Suffering; and
  3. Drinking wine.



_("Most standard Haggadot have three places that say 'Refill wine glasses,'" Ty moaned to Ruq, banging her head against the desk. "Refill! Do you know what that means? It means there's at least three times that **they were emptied!** ")_

Titus is just shy of 17 years old. He writes music that he plays on his dad's banged-up guitar and reads about advancements in synthetic intelligence. He has zero alcohol tolerance.

This is the worst idea anyone has had in the history of ever. But he will go. He will go to what Sulla (laughing when she says it but not, Titus thinks, entirely joking) calls "the second annual Pinsky-Sterling Seder of Suffering" because that is what you _do_ when you're just shy of 17 years old, have been dating the world's most advanced synthetic for half a year, and did not make the best impression the first time you encountered that synthetic's genius dads.

Sulla tells him, repeatedly, that everything will be fine. He tells _himself,_ repeatedly, that everything will be fine.

He doesn't believe either of them.

*

On the day of the Seder, in between trying to decide between four different ascots, three bow ties, and five jackets, Titus texts Sulla that it's "definitely a boy day." Sulla texts back that she'll tell her dads. And that's the end of that. Outside the protective bubble of his moms' house, Sulla is the only person who always uses the right names and pronouns, no matter how often they switch in a week, a day, _a fucking hour being a teenager is **the worst**_. If he can have that for one night, Sulla and her dads and their robot staff using the right name and pronouns, he will be over the damned moon.

It won't be a problem for Sulla's dads. Mr. Pinsky has apparently been the perfect dad to his trans synthetic daughter, and Mr. Sterling is—well, Sulla says he's "asking the mirror a lot of deep questions," which, damned if Titus knows what that means, but whatever fatherly problems they might have with their only daughter's significantish other, gender won't be one of them.

This will be okay. It'll all be okay.

(It won't be okay.)

*

Sulla is Titus' first serious relationship ever, and he's been on _one_ other date, which he's not sure actually counts as a date. Erika had dragged him to a church lock-in when they were 13. At 8 at night he met a girl who asked him to join her for lukewarm pizza and flat Coke at 3 the next morning. He's never seen her again. Neesha teases him about his skill for "chatting up older women," but chatting is all he _does_. Most of those older women want to mother him or ask for fashion advice.

The point is that Titus is not used to meeting the parents of the person he's dating. He is _especially_ not used to meeting the incredibly smart, rich, mysterious parents of the person he's dating.

( _"Brendan's not mysterious!" Sulla said with a bright laugh, shifting her head to, presumably, get more comfortable in Titus' lap. "He's a dork. He tells awful jokes and makes me write boring papers on the Continental Congress. He's the least mysterious person alive!"_

_"To you, maybe," Titus countered. He ran his fingers through Sulla's hair, and she gave a pleased hum and pressed against his hand like a cat. Sulla wasn't vain about her appearance, but her hair was **very** special to her. Something about how she'd chosen the color herself to match her dad's and how hair was the hardest part to make seem organic. It had been fascinating, but as usual she'd reached a level of technicality that Titus couldn't follow. Maybe in like ten years when he had a Masters in Synthetics and Robotics, he could keep up with everything she said. "To the rest of us, he's a complete enigma. Yeah, he's friendly in interviews and at conferences. But he's the CEO of the world's largest robotics company, and he managed to hide the fact that he'd been raising a synthetic copy of his dead partner for almost sixteen years. That's a guy with secrets."_

_Sulla lay quietly for a minute, no sound in the room but the steady drag of Titus' hand through her hair. Then, tentatively, like she wasn't sure she'd understood what he'd been saying, she offered, "He can't carry a tune **at all**.")_

So when Brendan Pinsky opens the door of their frankly ridiculous house with a highball in his hand and a scowl on his face, Titus thinks of every dumb 1980s teen movie he's ever seen and thinks, _Well, at least he's not holding a shotgun._

"Good evening, Mr. Pinsky," Titus says. "Thank you for inviting me to your home." He adjusts the knot of his ascot, more to have something to do with his hands than from genuine need. He thrusts out the mixed flower bouquet he picked up, because his mother would _kill him_ if he'd shown up empty-handed. He's not old enough to buy liquor (and Sulla and Mr. Sterling couldn't drink it anyway, so that seems mean), and his research indicates that they are _all_ set on the food front. You can't go wrong with flowers, right?

Mr. Pinsky looks at the flowers, and then at Titus, and Titus thinks his scowl relaxes a little. Still, he all but drops the door in Titus' face as he yells, "Sulla! Your friend's here," and walks away, unflowered.

Titus has time to notice that Mr. Pinsky is wearing a kippah in the exact colors of the Sterling Industries logo before he hears Sulla cry, "Oh my _god,_ Brendan!" She flies up to the door, catching it and dropping a kiss on Titus' cheek before her feet touch the floor. "Sorry about him," she says. "He's _throwing a tantrum_!"

"Young lady!" Brendan calls from deeper in the house.

Titus holds out his second bouquet, the Gerbera daisies, because daisies are the April birth flower, and that's romantic, right? "Happy birthday."

Sulla's birthday is tomorrow, but given how late they think the Seder will go, they won't see each other tomorrow. Heck, given how late they think the Seder will go, Titus won't see much besides the insides of his eyelids tomorrow.

"Thank you." With a shy, delighted grin, Sulla takes the flowers and ushers Titus inside the house. "Brendan will be fine once we get started. Promise."

As the door closes behind them, Sulla passes the flowers to Gimel, who's appeared from who-the-hell-knows-where. Sulla laces their fingers together, and Titus allows himself to believe that he'll get through the night without too many scars.

Then Alastair Sterling appears on the far side of the room, waves at Titus, and calls, "Ahoy, Captain!"

Titus Trang is going to die.

*

"Your dad _hates me_ ," Titus hisses as he follows Sulla into the house.

"He doesn't," she insists, tugging at him to hurry him along.

"He's sulking," Mr. Sterling adds, and, oh, right, how has Titus managed to forget that _a robot copy of the father of robotics_ is walking behind them? His kippah is pale blue and looks _very_ soft. Titus wonders if he has the same texture sensitivities as Sulla. Now that Titus knows who Sulla is—who she was _designed_ to be—he can't believe he missed it the first time he saw Mr. Sterling. Now that he knows what he's looking at, the resemblance is _so striking._ He looks pretty relaxed for someone who's also celebrating (celebrating?) the anniversary of his death today.

"Before Al came back, Brendan's Seders were a big deal," Sulla says. "I mean, not huge, because it could only be people who knew about me. But Aunt Luce and Dee and a bunch of their friends from Villas and—" She half-glances around nervously, like she thinks Mr. Pinsky might be hovering behind the nearest potted plant. "I kind of hated it." Titus thinks for a second that Mr. Sterling snorts, but would that be a thing? Would the father of robotics snort?

Then Titus sort of trips, and would've fallen if not for Sulla's inhuman strength and reflexes, which are very useful sometimes. "'Aunt Luce'? As in... Lucille Villas Santos?"

"Oh!" Sulla says, brightening instantly. "Do you know her?"

 _Do I know her, she asks._ Titus shakes his head and tries not to think about how _very_ out of his depths he is with this whole family. "I haven't had the pleasure," he says faintly.

"Well, she's great," Sulla gushes. "Anyway, this year we wouldn't even let Brendan invite her because we thought it would be too much at once for you. He's kind of upset."

"Sulking," Mr. Sterling repeats with an air of finality.

Great. Titus is ruining Mr. Pinsky's Passover. This is doing _nothing_ to pull him out of the hole he's dug himself into with Sulla's parents.

The first time they met, Titus had just learned that the girl he was into was the world's most advanced synthetic, who had superstrength _and could fly_ ; that the grumpy old dude he'd taken for her dad was _oh crap a synthetic copy of Alastair Sterling;_ and that the innocuous-looking guy who was _actually_ her dad was _also_ the CEO of Sterling Industries. Titus _may_ have run his mouth off about how cool Sulla was—in a way that inadvertently gave Mr. Pinsky and Mr. Sterling the impression he wanted to take her apart and study her, not date her.

They've all crossed paths since then, both in the slow months when Titus and Sulla were relearning each other after it turned out they hadn't really known each other at all, and then in the heady half-year they've been dating for real. But those have been, by design, fleeting encounters: a wave to Mr. Sterling from the Central Library bus shelter; twenty seconds of incredibly uncomfortable conversation with Mr. Pinsky when he comes to pick Sulla up. When they hang out, it's at Titus' school, at the library, out with the gang, or at the Trangs', where TItus' mom and stepmom, after a week of staring suspiciously at this awkward, flying white girl who'd suddenly landed in their lives, have embraced Sulla with a fervency that makes Titus almost jealous.

This is only the second time Titus will spend a significant amount of time in Mr. Pinsky and Mr. Sterling's presence. A better second meeting should be a low bar, but suddenly Titus isn't so sure he can clear it.

*

Sulla leads him into the dining room, which is smaller than expected and surprisingly homey for an ultramodern house with entire walls made of windows. Mr. Pinsky is already seated, clutching his highball and glaring at the world. It's hard not to see it as sulking, now. Titus glares at Mr. Sterling's broad back for putting the thought in his mind.

Half his attention on glaring, Titus reaches for the chair in front of him—on the _opposite_ side from Mr. Pinsky, thank you very much—only to jolt backward when Sulla tugs his shoulder. _Hard_. Titus looks down and notices that each place setting at the table has a name card. The one in front of him says "Alastair Sterling" in fancy silver calligraphy. Titus sighs and glances without hope toward the other setting on this side of the table, and then forces down a fist-pump when he sees "Titus Trang" in the same sparkling script. Small mercies.

An unassuming matte black kippah and a small pile of bobby pins rest above his plate. Titus waves a bobby pin at Sulla, reminding her that she'd promised to help with this. ( _"Just because I'm a girl some days doesn't mean I know about... hair things," Ty said the day Sulla invited her, equal parts nervous and hopeful, to the Sterling-Pinsky Seder._

_"It's not a **hair thing** , Ty!" Sulla insisted._

_"It goes on my head and presumably has to be held in place somehow. It's a hair thing."_ )

"We didn't bother with anything fancy," Mr. Pinsky says as Sulla fusses with Titus' bobby pins. "Weren't sure how long you were sticking around." It sounds like a test.

Titus has no idea what the right answer is, so he shrugs and says, "It's okay, Mr. Pinsky; I crochet. I can make one for myself if I need it again." He makes a note to look up genderfluid flag kippah patterns when he gets home and then realizes Mr. Pinsky and Mr. Sterling are staring at him. He looks at Sulla, who shrugs. Have they never met anyone who crochets? Or are they that surprised by Titus thinking he'll be around long enough to need a kippah later? The next thing is... Shavuot, right? He certainly intends to still be with Sulla in seven weeks.

The seating arrangement puts Titus next to Mr. Sterling, across from Mr. Pinsky, and kitty-corner from Sulla. In Adirondack chairs. Titus feels like this is worth noting. Four Adirondack chairs have been pulled up to the Sterling-Pinsky formal dining table, and that is _weird_. Right? That's weird?

Titus hates Adirondack chairs.

At first the seating arrangement seems like a deliberate ploy of Mr. Pinsky's to separate Titus and Sulla. It may be that, too, but Titus realizes the logic of it as soon as Gimel comes into the room bearing two Seder plates. One, set between Titus and Mr. Pinsky, bears all the food Titus's research led him to expect. The second plate, which goes between Sulla and Mr. Sterling, is full of fructose made to look like those foods.

Titus' eyes sweep around the plate over and over, reciting the foods like the world's weirdest affirmation. _Shank bone_ (well, roasted beet, but he was prepared for this possibility), _charoset, bitter herbs, parsley, egg._ He can't remember the Hebrew names for most of it, but he knows what everything is and what it symbolizes, and he hopes that'll be enough to carry him through without Mr. Pinsky throwing him into the street.

Sulla is bouncing slightly in her chair, and Mr. Pinsky's twice had to tap her hand to keep her from sneaking bites of fake charoset. Mr. Sterling is splitting his glares evenly between the two plates. Mr. Sterling remembers human food as Sulla does not: the crunch of apples, the sting of horseradish. A bunch of sugary blobs in the shape of the food he once took for granted probably doesn't fill him with holiday cheer. Uh, not that this is a cheery holiday.

Titus can't help comparing this holiday to Giỗ Tổ Hùng Vương, which starts next week. This is starker. Austere. Two Seder plates, bright white with a few blue and silver accents. A small wicker basket covered with a white dish towel. One wine glass and one water glass at each plate. A blue ceramic water pitcher. Two lit white taper candles in utilitarian silver holders. A small family in somber clothes. He feels like he's going to leave here tonight understanding Sulla and her family much better. _What_ he's going to understand, he's not sure.

Mr. Pinsky gestures to Gimel, who's been hovering to the side. It zips over, places a small tablet at each plate, and fills the wine glasses—Sulla's and Mr. Sterling's with fructose syrup ( _yuck gross why **bother**_ ), Titus' and Mr. Pinsky's with grape juice. Titus' eyes widen, and he tries hard not to look at Mr. Pinsky.

Mr. Pinsky sighs and sniffs his grape juice. "I didn't see any point to wine," he says. "Two synthetics—one of whom is underage—and an underage human." He glances wryly at Mr. Sterling. "Manischewitz is basically grape-flavored alcoholic sugar-water anyway."

Mr. Sterling squints. "Sure. You could call that flavor grapeish."

"I'm sure it's delicious," Sulla says loyally. Titus isn't sure who she's being loyal _to_.

"It would be to you," Mr. Sterling grouses, but it's obviously a loving family tease. "You were literally raised on sugar."

Sulla shrugs. The toe of her sneaker touches Titus' ankle under the table. Titus relaxes, except, no, Mr. Pinsky is staring at them _oh god he knows **he knows** abort abort!_ Titus yanks his leg away. Sulla looks confused. Mr. Sterling is smirking.

Family Seders are officially the worst.

Mr. Sterling clears his throat. "Are we doing this or what?" The others pick up their tablets and thumb them on.

Titus looks at his tablet. It's about the size of an early smartphone, the screen no bigger than his hand. Tentatively, he stretches forward ( _Adirondack chairs_ ) and thumbs the home button. Immediately, the phone wakes up, a cheery "Welcome, Titus Trang" flashing across the screen, leaving Titus to _emphatically not contemplate_ how Brendan Pinsky came by his thumbprint and what that means for the future of his relationship with the man's daughter.

A new screen appears. It reads _Pinsky Family Haggadah. Created by Sulla and Brendan Pinsky, Pesach 5779_.

"So, kiddo," Mr. Sterling says with a twinkle in his eye ( _those eyes are not real how does he **do that**?_ ), "you wanna tell the Captain about the Haggadah?"

Sulla gives a dismissive snort. "Titus is smart," she says with the simple confidence of any boring fact. Sky: blue. Me: synthetic. Titus: smart. "I'm sure he researched the Seder thoroughly before he came." She doesn't look at him to check, she's so sure of this.

She's not wrong, either. Titus researched. Dear god, how Titus researched. If Titus had tried to open one more browser tab for research, a bunch of them would've hived off and founded a new tab colony.

Mr. Sterling smirks (Titus is getting sick of that smirk) and says, "Trust me, kiddo; no amount of research can prepare a body for _this_."

Titus gulps. His hands are shaking. He feels like he spent all night cramming for a chem test only to walk into the exam room and find a calc test instead. Is Mr. Sterling messing with him, or is their Haggadah _really_ different? He's not prepared for a _really_ different Haggadah.

Sulla rolls her eyes. "It's not _that_ —" Mr. Sterling raises an expressive gray eyebrow at her. Sulla huffs and turns to Titus. "Okay, so, my first Passover after—" She makes a vague gesture toward her torso, and Titus nods. ( _"Brendan asked if I wanted to do something different with the body," Sulla whispered, the sound unexpectedly intimate in the darkness created by the shadow of the library study carrel they were huddled under. "I wanted **so badly** to say, 'A girl body,' but I chickened out and said 'hydrogen-powered propulsion' instead. So that's why I can fly." She laughed shakily. "Who knows what else I'd have if I hadn't gotten my nerve up."_ ) "I noticed that the Haggadah we were using had a lot of language that didn't make sense." She frowns and adds softly, "I like things to make sense."

Titus smiles and squeezes her hand across the table. "I know."

Her expression brightens. "So we rewrote it so it makes sense." She mock-glares at Mr. Sterling. "That's it. Not weird at all."

Mr. Sterling snorts and gestures toward the table. "Let's get started, then," he says, and Titus is _almost_ certain he's not imagining the dare in Mr. Sterling's voice. But what does he know? Maybe that's how Mr. Sterling talks.

Giving Mr. Sterling a look that clearly means "cut it out" (Titus has two parents, two stepparents, and an older sister. He is very familiar with that look), Mr. Pinsky picks up his glass of grape juice, and the others follow suit.

" _Baruch Atah Adonai, Eloheinu Melech Ha-olam, boreh pree hagafen,_ " they recite. Sulla and Mr. Sterling are, as is the way of group recitation, a fraction of a second behind Mr. Pinsky. Titus is... lost. He studied at least thirty Haggadot to prepare for this, but none of them mentioned how _fast_ the Hebrew would be. Or that it would be kind of... sung? They are ten seconds into the first skirmish, and Titus is losing the war.

"Blessed are You, O Lord our God, Ruler of the Universe," Mr. Pinsky is saying, "who set evolution on a course that eventually led to grapes."

Titus' mouth drops open. He... he didn't find _that_ in his research. And he doesn't think that's how the Hebrew translates.

" _Baruch Atah Adonai, Eloheinu Melech Ha-olam, shehecheyanu, v'kiyemanu vehigiyanu laz'man hazeh._ Blessed are You, O Lord our God, Ruler of the Universe, who has kept us alive, lifted us up, and brought us to this moment." Mr. Pinsky takes a breath. Then he pauses, looks sheepishly at Sulla and Mr. Sterling, and sits down, giving Titus an almost-smile. "This is the first of several places where there would usually be interstitial matter about honoring ancient traditions and celebrating the Israelites' liberation from slavery. But, uh, Sulla made me cut those parts."

"They're boring," Sulla says.

"If you're sitting here, you know why you're here," Mr. Sterling adds, arms crossed. "We're not expecting a presentation on Amway."

Mr. Pinsky laughs. Titus shrugs when Sulla mouths, "What's Amway?"

"Well, now I feel old," Mr. Sterling grumbles. Mr. Pinsky grins at him; he sulks back slightly less.

"Moving on," Mr. Pinsky says.

They get through the _urchatz_ without incident only because Titus bites his tongue instead of asking about the water resistance of Sulla's and Mr. Sterling's skin and whether Mr. Pinsky worries about their electronic components shorting anyway. That's personal growth, is what that is.

Mr. Pinsky does the bit about evolution again for the _karpas_ (with Sulla adding a muttered "even though it's pointless," after Mr. Sterling thanks God for parsley), and Mr. Sterling makes a face when he eats the fructose parsley.

When Mr. Pinsky raises an eyebrow at him, he sighs. "I know fructose is plant sugar. And it's not like parsley tastes like much of anything, anyway. It just feels _wrong_ , sugar parsley dipped in salt water."

"Sulla has graciously agreed to use regular matzah as the afikomen tonight," Mr. Pinsky says. He does _not_ say, "because she is perfect and far too good for you," because he doesn't need to. Titus is aware. Sulla gleefully breaks the the middle matzah in two and flips half to Gimel, who catches it with a giddy chirp.

"Gimel is great at hiding the afikomen," Sulla tells Titus. She leans close, and her breath fanning his cheek is sweeter for the knowledge that she doesn't technically need to breathe. "The year I was twelve, it took me three hours to find it!"

"We are _not_ having a repeat of that year," Mr. Pinsky says forcefully. Sulla subsides, and Gimel, who’s been uncharacteristicly quiet tonight, sighs sadly as it ( _he? Why has Titus never thought to ask this?!?_ ) whirs out of the room with the afikomen carefully pinched between its fingers.

"So... who looks for it now?" Titus asks.

Three pairs of eyes look at him blankly. Well, two blank. Mr. Sterling looks vaguely amused, but that seems to be his default expression around Titus.

"We do," Sulla says slowly, gesturing between the two of them.

"Oh," Titus says, _like a dumbass_ , "I didn't—I thought that was for..." He clears his throat. "I mean, I thought only kids did that?"

Mr. Pinsky makes a high-pitched noise, like Titus' words physically pain him. Sulla looks subdued, eyes downcast. Under the table, Mr. Sterling kicks him.

That's when Titus realizes: Alastair Sterling is _on TItus' side._ Alastair Sterling is _trying to help_. He's doing it by being a bag of dicks, but he seems to... want TItus and Sulla's relationship to succeed? Titus shoots him a grateful smile and then rushes to tell Sulla, "I mean, I'm excited to look for it later. I just... didn't think we'd get a chance to?"

Reassured, Sulla smiles and taps his ankle again. Mr. Sterling is _also_ tapping his ankle, on the other leg. This is now officially the weirdest moment of Titus' life, but he feels hugely relieved to have Mr. Sterling's approval.

Mr. Pinsky is still totally going to kill him.

"This is normally where we ask the four questions," Sulla says.

"But Sulla has problems with the four questions," Mr. Pinsky puts in dryly.

"The answers don't answer them!" Sulla says, waving her hands around. " _Okay,_ we dip our vegetables twice, but _why_? _Yes_ , we only eat matzah, but _why_?"

Mr. Sterling looks at Titus, blank-faced, and says, "We skip that part."

"Also," Sulla mutters quietly, arms crossed, "Adirondack chairs are not reclining."

Titus has never agreed more fervently with anyone, about anything, in his life.

So they move on to the Four Children, and things go okay until they get to the part that says, "The uninformed child asks" and Titus sees, with a sickening thud in his stomach, his name in parentheses next to it. _He's_ the uninformed child, the one who doesn't even know what to ask, how to ask it. He's supposed to say something about the Passover story here. But he's looking at this most unlikely of families, and all he can do is blurt, "How do you _do_ it? I mean, do any of you _believe_ in God? This is weird," and then wait to die.

Sulla bristles. "I'm not sure what I believe," she says sharply, "but it's tradition. Tradition is important. Tradition helps the world make sense." Which, okay, he gets why that matters to Sulla. In his experience, it's not always true, but he is _definitely_ not going to argue that with Sulla in the middle of her family's Seder.

Mr. Sterling looks amused as he jerks his thumb at Sulla. "Well, she's me, so... yeah. Belief, no; tradition, yes."

"I'm not _you_ ," Sulla says sullenly. They're both right, and both wrong, in their way, which makes Titus' head spin.

He risks a glance at Mr. Pinsky, who looks... well, for the first time tonight, he looks like he's _not_ plotting Titus' imminent demise. In fact, if Titus had to put a name to Mr. Pinsky's expression, he would call it... impressed. What the hell.

"I know it doesn't make much sense," Mr. Pinsky says. "Science and religion, not always the best of friends. And most times I do think... yeah. It's probably a load of hooey." Titus legitimately had not known that anyone still said "hooey," but now that it's out there, it seems like a perfectly Mr. Pinsky word. Mr. Pinsky ducks his head. "I'm not good at that kind of thing—theology, philosophy, metaphysics. I leave that to Luce. But sometimes... sometimes I look at Sulla, or Al—" He reaches across the table, and Mr. Sterling takes his hand. It's a powerfully touching moment, and also a scary one, because lit candles. "—and I feel a connection beyond what I can explain by talking about love or family. And for a second I feel like I _get it,_ the way everything fits together, from the smallest subatomic particle to the entire cosmos, from the Big Bang to..." He huffs quietly. "To the inevitable heat death of the universe.

"If that's not divine, I don't know what is. It's not an all-powerful being out there somewhere, but it's real. And it includes ancestors of ours who were slaves for a long time and then wandered around a desert for a while. That's a part of my history that I choose to honor."

Everyone stares at Mr. Pinsky for a minute. Then Titus says, "Huh."

" _What_?" Mr. Pinsky demands, embarrassment clear in his challenge. He takes his hand back from Mr. Sterling, in an effort, Titus thinks, to look more intimidating.

"No, nothing," Titus says hastily. "Just, Sulla said you could be a sap, but I didn't... get it?"

Mr. Pinsky turns _tremendously_ red. Sulla buries her face in her hands and moans, "Titus!" Mr. Sterling laughs so hard Titus worries he's going to bust a connector or something. Titus... well, Titus doesn't think he can be more terrified and embarrassed than he already was. This new gaffe barely blips his consciousness.

"Tell the story, Sulla," Mr. Pinsky grits out.

Sulla takes a deep and unnecessary breath to calm herself. Then she says, "Okay. So you have the Israelites, right. And God swore they were his 'chosen people.' But he must've been busy in another part of the world or something, because he let them get captured into slavery and then forgot about them for, like, _ever_."

Titus stares, half awed and half dismayed, but Mr. Pinsky and Mr. Sterling are nodding along, so... maybe this is how this part goes?

"Anyway, so, after, like, four hundred years of this, God finally looks up and says, 'Hey. Where'd my people go?' So he looks around and, whoops, there they are in Egypt! As slaves! So he appears to Moses as a burning bush—a _burning bush_ , like that's not going to give a guy, like, _serious_ issues—and says, 'Hey, Mose, go tell Pharaoh to let my people go.' And Moses, instead of telling God to do it himself, like I would've—" Mr. Sterling coughs softly. Sulla looks pinched for a second and then plunges on, "Moses says 'Sure thing, Goddio!' and goes and lays out his argument to the Pharaoh.

"And now, see, here's where God decides to be a giant bag of dicks."

" _Sulla_ ," Mr. Pinsky snaps.

"Because Moses presented this solid argument, right, and Pharaoh was totally going to let the Israelites go. But, _noooo_ , God was all, 'That was too easy! I didn't get to show off!' So he hardens Pharaoh's heart, and Pharaoh says, 'Nope! No wayski!' Moses is all, 'If you don't, our God's gonna rain plagues down on you!' And Pharaoh's all, 'Bring it, beeyotch!'"

Mr. Pinsky focuses a killer glare on Titus. "I blame your pack of half-feral teenagers for this."

Titus' eyebrows lift involuntarily. "Sir?" He remembers the first time he met Sulla, the _fire_ in her, the passion for her chosen topics. No way she got that from _them_.

"She used to believe in proper grammar and usage," Mr. Pinsky says, forlorn. Mr. Sterling laughs more. Sulla sticks out her tongue.

Sulla slows her voice way down and says dramatically, "So... God... sends..." She pauses, glancing at Titus.

He looks around and realizes everyone else has a finger hovering over their grape juice. "Uh?"

"Come on!" Sulla says gleefully. "This is the best part!"

Oh. Right. The ten plagues. Titus knows this part. He flails forward in his awkward chair and fumbles for his wine glass. It's a very Gregor Samsa moment.

Sulla lists the plagues with excessive glee and flicks drops of wine with excessive vehemence. Titus does his best to keep up. When they're done, Sulla and Mr. Sterling have perfectly aligned arrangements of wine droplets. Mr. Sterling's form a perfect row along the edge of his plate, Sulla's, two little starburst patterns. Titus and Mr. Pinsky have more chaotic arrangements. They share a halfway commiserating glance. Synthetics, man.

"So, _finally,_ " Sulla continues, picking up the story like she'd never stopped, "Pharaoh says, 'Fine! Okay! Stop killing my kids! And my crops! And my livestock! And my _kids_!'" Titus covers his mouth with his hand, but everyone probably hears him laugh anyway. "'Take your people and go!'"

"So Moses starts to lead the Israelites out of Egypt, but then God decides, no, whoops, that escape wasn't dramatic enough. So he makes Pharaoh change his mind and send the Egyptian army after Moses and the crew. He parts the Red Sea—which some researchers think was the result of an earthquake that caused the water to—" Mr. Sterling coughs again, and Sulla course-corrects without missing a beat. "The Israelites go through, but the Egyptians show up during the consequent tsunami and get squashed.

"And that is the story of how God dramatically rescued a bunch of people he could've kept out of danger in the first place!"

Titus applauds. It bursts out of him, his hands flinging themselves against each other without conscious thought. Sulla looks sheepishly pleased and gives a shallow curtsey. Mr. Pinsky looks grudgingly proud, and Mr. Sterling looks smugly pleased with himself, so Titus assumes that _he's_ responsible for many of the habits that Mr. Pinsky finds objectionable in Sulla.

"Some people sing 'Dayenu' at this point," Mr. Pinsky says, and Titus' heart sinks. He studied "Dayenu." He listened to, like, seven versions on SoundStream. But he's guessing that the Pinsky-Sterlings are not included in 'some people.' "Sulla has objections."

Mr. Sterling lifts his hand. "I also have objections."

"I thought it was okay," Titus says weakly.

"It's not enough!" Sulla shouts. "All the things the song says would've been enough? _None of them_ are enough!" She pauses and takes a few deep, calming, and completely unnecessary breaths to recenter herself. "We tried to rewrite it so it was less... rage-inducing for me. But the only things that scan in place of _dayenu_ were, uh—" She glances sheepishly at Mr. Pinsky. "—dad-vetoed. Immediately."

Mr. Pinsky crosses his arms and dad-glares over the top of his glasses. Titus feels plenty cowed, and Mr. Pinsky's not even looking at him. Sulla returns the glare before sitting back down (somehow managing to look graceful even in an Adirondack chair).

Things cruise along fairly well for a while. They get through the second cup with little fuss ( _"In his mind," Mr. Sterling confides to Titus, gesturing at Mr. Pinsky, "he's formulating alcoholic fructose."_ ), and during the _rachtzah_ , Sulla shrugs while she turns her hands under the water and says, "I mean, it makes sense that God's a proponent of germ theory, because he created it. But he also created germs, which must make things awkward for him?"

When they bless the matzah, Mr. Sterling does his bit about evolution again, and Sulla jokes that God must not _actually_ be able to bring forth bread from the earth, or they wouldn't be eating matzah. Mr. Sterling admits that this is the only place where the synthetic equivalent is better than the original.

"I mean, it's the bread of affliction, right?" Titus says, trying to be polite. "It does a good job of that." He doesn't realize that was another misspeak until Mr. Sterling guffaws.

Mr. Sterling is _not_ a fan of horseradish. "I don't know how you managed to make fructose bitter," he grumbles at Mr. Pinsky, "but this is worse than the real thing."

Sulla is a _huge_ fan of the _korech_ , which does not surprise Titus at all. Sulla has a devotion to sandwiches that Titus finds baffling, since she only eats fructose. But he can't count the number of times she's taken several pieces of differently textured fructose gels and synth biscuits and layered them on top of each other, gleefully declaring them a sandwich. An amalgam of fructose-matzah, fructose-charoset, and fructose-maror? Yeah, that's right up her alley.

Then it's time for actual dinner, which somehow ends up being the calmest, most civilized part of the evening so far. Except that there is _so much food_ —far too much for four people.

Also, Titus suspects that Mr. Pinsky (or, more likely, Sulla) is, for lack of a better description, playing up the Jewish foods aspect of dinner for Titus' sake. Titus has done a lot of research (has he mentioned his research?), and he knows that people eat all sorts of things at a Seder dinner. This table is downright groaning with a wide array of food—kugels, knishes, lox, matzah ball soup, borscht—Titus doesn't doubt that they eat this stuff (or its fructose equivalents, in Sulla and Mr. Sterling's case), but not all at once. But Titus knows how to be a gracious guest, so he won't ask who went overboard on dinner ( _Sulla_ ). He also will not ask if it's kosher, because it's none of his damned business, and he's not sure they do that anyway, but the matzah ball soup has seitan, rather than chicken, so he supposes anything's possible.

Conversation flows strangely during dinner. Mr. Pinsky and Sulla talk to each other like the others aren't in the room. From time to time Sulla tries to draw Titus and Mr. Sterling back into the discussion, and he contributes when he can. Inevitably, though, the conversation will wind back to some experiment Sulla and Mr. Pinsky are working on, new robot they're building, or inside joke that grew out of the fact that, for almost sixteen years, they were each other's entire world. Titus doesn't mind. After spending the first part of the Seder feeling like he was under a microscope, he likes sitting back and letting everyone mostly forget about him.

Titus finds himself soothed by the way Mr. Pinsky and Mr. Sterling act around each other. ( _"Things were when rough when Al came back," Sulla had said, haltingly, chin on her knees under that same library carrel. "They fought all the time. They didn't know how to be around each other anymore." It made sense to Titus—for Mr. Sterling, no time had passed since he and Mr. Pinsky had last spoken—a fight, Sulla thought. But Mr. Pinsky had spent fifteen years grieving and growing and being changed by parenthood and the inevitable wash of time. For all intents and purposes, he'd been a widower raising his and Mr. Sterling's kid the whole time. For Mr. Sterling to pop back up—not as he would be if he'd lived these years, too, but **exactly** as he'd been the last time they saw each other—shit, it was a wonder they'd been able to be around each other at all._ ) They're not like Titus' grandparents, who've been together so long they're basically one two-headed creature that barely needs words anymore. They're not like his dad and stepmom, who've been married less than a year and already hate each other, or his mom and stepmom, who are going through an extended honeymoon period that _no_ 16-year-old should be forced to witness.

Mr. Pinsky and Mr. Sterling are... quietly steadfast. That's what Titus thinks when he looks at them. He knows they're working out issues in their relationship—new issues stemming from their new circumstances and old issues that never got resolved last time. But they're _here_ , committed to making it work, which, if Titus can extrapolate from a few other things Sulla has said, is a huge step forward for Mr. Sterling. It's a good model for Sulla to be growing up with. Which is good, because—and she would deny it for a thousand years if he so much as hinted at it—they're doing it because of Sulla.

Not the way his parents did the year before they separated, when it was clear they were staying together solely for the kids. Sulla has this way of making people want to be better so they feel worthy of being around her. When Titus says Mr. Pinsky and Mr. Sterling are working through their issues because of Sulla, it isn't because society tells them that every child needs a stable home with two parents to be well-adjusted. It's because, if you had a chance to be Sulla Pinsky's parent, you'd do everything in your power to be worthy of that role.

Or maybe Titus is projecting. Because that's how he feels about dating her.

As plates start to be emptied, human and synthetic alike leaning back in their _friggin Adirondack chairs_ sighing the sighs of the overfed, Sulla starts to bounce excitedly in her seat. Mr. Sterling snorts out a small laugh and says, "Sulla _really_ likes this part."

Titus has slipped too far into his food coma to remember what part comes next. He could look; his tablet is sitting on the table beside his (currently empty) juice glass. But his belly is groaning with food, and he's sunk deep in this damned chair, and... nope. Not gonna happen.

Mr. Pinsky does him a solid anyway and says, "Now is the time for all good children—" He raises an eyebrow at Titus over the frames of his glasses. "—and surly teenagers to hunt down the afikomen." His eyes twinkle in amusement. "We have macaroons, too. Half a piece of matzah split four ways does _not_ count as dessert."

" _Yes_!" Sulla leaps out of her chair ( _how_?), zooms around the table, grabs Titus' hand, and hauls him to his feet. He stifles his wince. "This is gonna be great," she assures him as she hustles him out of the room, moving so quickly he's not sure her feet are touching the ground.

Weirdly, though, once they're out of the dining room, Sulla doesn't make even a cursory search for the afikomen. She pulls them in and out of every door they come across, so she's looking for _something_ , but the way her gaze barely sweeps each space they enter before leaving it again suggests that that something is _not_ half a piece of matzah.

Sulla drags Titus into what looks like—yup, this is definitely a broom closet. She holds him against the wall with one hand (oh good _grief_ , should her literally inhuman strength be this _hot_?) while she slams the door shut with the other.

"Sulla, what—" That's all he gets out before her mouth is on his, all heat and enthusiasm and, wow, okay, maybe he should've been expecting this?

Titus tries to give as good as he gets, but being kissed by Sulla is like being sucked into a tornado, and he ultimately has to hold on tight and let it sweep him away. He curls one hand around her hip and the other in her hair and gleefully swallows the gasp that pulls out of her. Sulla's hair is quite a wonder.

Synthetics run warm all the time, and right now Sulla's so heated, her hands like brands where they rest at the small of his back, that Titus knows her cooling processors are working overtime. She's taller than he is—a definite turn-on—but when Titus notices an increasingly pronounced tilt to his neck, he anchors both hands on her hips and tugs her back to ground level so he can reach her.

A throat clears behind them. The kiss snaps like a stretched rubber band, but Sulla's arms tighten around Titus so he can't go anywhere. So flooded with heat he's amazed he hasn't combusted, Titus glances over his shoulder and sees Mr. Sterling leaning against the door jamb looking far too amused. Neither of them heard the door open. It's mortifying. But at least it's not Mr. Pinsky.

"Gimel's good," Mr. Sterling drawls, "but he didn't hide the afikomen behind anybody's tonsils." Titus whimpers and wants to die _even more_. Sulla still won't look at Mr. Sterling. Titus can't look away. Mr. Sterling gestures them toward the door. "Out you get."

" _Al_ ," Sulla says petulantly, mostly into Titus' neck. Her hands are so warm against Titus' back, the brush of her hair a thrill across his arms every time she moves. Titus is going to die of embarrassment, but he'll die happy.

"I know," Mr. Sterling says, "I'm supposed to be the pushover dad. This is much better than the alternative, believe me." When Sulla makes a defiant face, he just lifts an eyebrow.

Sulla blanches and drops her hands. Titus shivers as air rushes in, chilling the spot where she'd been touching him. Sulla grips Titus' hand tightly and stomps gracelessly out of the closet, towing him in her wake, while Mr. Sterling looks on with the world's most shit-eating grin. When Sulla starts to lead them toward the dining room, Mr. Sterling clears his throat again.

" _What_?" Sulla demands.

A slow half-grin twitches the corners of Mr. Sterling's mouth. "The afikomen?"

"Oh, for—wait here." Sulla drops Titus' hand, zips up into the air, and flies off down the hall. Leaving Titus alone with Mr. Sterling. _To die._

Titus adjusts his glasses, knocked askew during the make-out session. He rocks on his heels and assiduously avoids eye contact with Mr. Sterling. "Uh, hey," he says. Does his voice sound raspy? Holy shit, is he trying to initiate conversation with Mr. Sterling while sounding like he's recently had his tonsils thoroughly scoured by the man's 17-year-old… uh… daughter? stepdaughter? amnesiac synthetic copy? _Damn,_ does this family need better terminology.

Mr. Sterling's grin widens fractionally. "Evening, Captain."

Titus' mouth twists. "Why do you keep calling me that?"

Mr. Sterling waves a hand at him. "It's—you have a—"

Sulla buzzes up to them, expression like a thundercloud. " _Here_ ," she snaps, shoving the afikomen into Mr. Sterling's hand. "I found it. Happy now?"

"Mazel tov," Mr. Sterling says dryly. Sulla snorts and zooms away.

When they get back to the table, Mr. Pinsky doesn't look like he's ready to eviscerate them with his butter knife, so Titus assumes Mr. Sterling didn't say what he suspected they were up to. Titus is weirdly grateful for Alastair Sterling.

"We found it," Sulla says, still grumpy.

Mr. Sterling deposits the afikomen on Titus' plate, and he stares at it forlornly. More matzah. Great. "Save it," Mr. Sterling whispers, "and have it with dessert. It's not terrible smothered in Nutella."

Mr. Pinsky snorts and turns back to his tablet.

They bless and drink the third cup, then refill again. Titus is infinitely glad it's not alcohol, because tonight is awkward enough without anyone being drunk. He  starts to relax, which may be a mistake, but it's better than being wound up like a spring all night.

Sulla crosses to the hutch in the corner of the room. She pulls down two beautiful blue goblets and brings them back, placing them in the small space on the table between her and Mr. Pinsky. She fills one of them with wine and says,"We fill an extra cup with wine for the prophet Elijah. When he come, it will mean the Messiah is arriving soon, which sounds like it's going to be _wild times_ , so I'm looking forward to that." Titus and Mr. Pinsky choke at the unexpected reminder that Sulla and Mr. Sterling will be alive for a _very_ long time.

Sulla picks up the water pitcher from the center of the table and fills the second goblet. "We fill the second cup with water for the prophet Miriam, because why should the boys get all the fun?" She grins at Titus, whose ridiculous heart won't let him do anything but smile back. "Miriam kept the Israelites alive in the desert all those years, because they skipped out of Egypt without supplies, and she opened a well in the desert to make sure they had clean water to drink. So we fill this cup as an invitation for her to return, as well, because when the Messiah comes, we'll need practical people as much as dreamers." Sulla stares at the two cups and says wistfully, "I always wanted imaginary friends when I was little." Titus can't help it; an impossibly warm smile curls his lips, and when Sulla sits again, this time it's his foot brushing hers under the table, though it's a stretch since his legs are shorter than hers. She keeps her gaze on the table and grins.

"Now is the time for praises and blessings unto God," Mr. Pinsky says, and it seems like he's genuinely trying to move things along, not like he's eager to break up the intimate moment Titus and Sulla are having. "Usually that means the recitation of Psalms, but..."

He gestures to Sulla, who dutifully supplies, "Al and I think they're boring. Also, if God created everything, then everything is praise to God."

Mr. Pinsky nods. "The logic is circular, but I've never been able to find an adequate argument against it. So this is... Pinsky-Sterling open mic time. Whatever strikes you as an acceptable praise to God, you are welcome to share with the table. Would anyone like to begin?"

There's a lull while everyone tries to avoid making eye-contact. Mr. Pinsky sighs. "I don't know why I ask. It's always me." He takes a sip of water and pushes to his feet. "Since Sulla has a guest this year, it's fitting that he hear a story about when she was a kid."

" _Brendan_ ," Sulla hisses. Her eyes dart to Titus, silently begging him to make Mr. Pinsky stop, but _no way_. Sulla rarely tells stories about her childhood, and this feels like a massive olive branch from Mr. Pinsky, and Titus would _never_ turn that down.

"So, of course," Mr. Pinsky begins, "Sulla came into the world as a newborn child with the intelligence and personality of a grumpy forty-year-old genius."

"I wasn't _actually_ a newborn child," Sulla grouses at the same time Mr. Sterling says, "I am not _grumpy_." Titus swallows his laugh, but Mr. Pinsky lets his ring long and loud over the room. Sulla and Mr. Sterling slink down in their chairs, sulking harder.

Mr. Pinsky's story rolls on, a harrowing yet strangely hilarious tale of Sulla's earliest interactions with human children and her realization that everyone she meets is not a superstrong, supersmart synthetic being swapped into different physical frames every few years. Initially, Sulla won't look at her dad, staring at her plate with her arms crossed and her mouth turned down in a pout. But Mr. Pinsky tells the tale with a mix of love and self-deprecation that makes _him_ look like the dunce, rather than Sulla, and she gradually unwinds, eventually laughing along with the rest of them.

Sulla takes her turn next, and Titus expects her to exact revenge in the form of an embarrassing story about Mr. Pinsky. Instead, she stands and says, "Sterling Enterprises confidential document: instructions for the assembly, operation, and maintenance of Robot Model Gimel."

Titus sits up as much and as fast as his chair allows. "Should I be hearing this?"

Mr. Sterling raises an eyebrow at him. "You planning on selling our secrets to the competition, Captain?"

Titus squints. "You have competition?" He can't think of anyone _close_ to what Sterling can do. The military, maybe? He's certainly not interested in telling anything to _them_.

Mr. Pinsky laughs. "Don't tell anyone what she says, and we'll be fine." Of course, by the time Sulla's three paragraphs in, it ceases to matter whether Titus intends to leak Gimel's secret, because he doesn't understand anything she's saying, so he just lets the cadence and timbre of her voice wash over him.

Mr. Sterling goes after Sulla. In his way, he gets revenge for Mr. Pinsky's story by telling a wonderfully sly, off-color joke about a man with two parakeets and then winking at Sulla and saying, "Your dad taught me that joke."

Sulla looks gleefully horrified, while Mr. Pinsky bursts out laughing and says, "I forgot about that!"

Mr. Sterling looks at Titus. "We sprung this on you. You don't have to share."

"Sulla actually told me about this part," Titus says. "I wrote a poem, if you don't mind?"

Mr. Pinsky looks surprised and impressed. Mr. Sterling looks surprised, impressed, and dismayed. Not a poetry fan, then. Which means—but, no, Sulla is showing interest and encouragement. Titus wonders again how much Sulla's experiences have made her different from Mr. Sterling, but now's not the time to get into it. He stands, clears his throat, and begins.

"Tôi cố gắng để nhắc nhở bản thân mình rằng chúng tôi đã không hứa hẹn mãi mãi  
(Thậm chí nếu chúng ta có, những gì của tôi mãi mãi so với của bạn?)"

Titus agonized over this poem. He's never felt about anyone the way he feels about Sulla. And he wants to believe that feeling will last for the rest of his life. But he's a pragmatist. He's 16; Sulla's 17. People change. Life changes them, like it or not. He's tried to capture that sense of hoping they have forever, but being grateful for what they've shared if they don't.

Also, he wrote the whole thing in Vietnamese, because Sulla speaks it, but he's pretty sure Mr. Pinsky and Mr. Sterling don't.

Sulla's crying by the time Titus reaches the end. Mr. Sterling and Mr. Pinsky are looking between them, caught between suspicion and grudging respect.

Titus clears his throat and sits down. Mr. Pinsky clears his throat and looks across the table at Titus. "Part of me suspects I ought to be worried about whatever just happened here. But mostly I think that anyone who looks at my daughter like you do, and gets her to look back the way she does, must be someone special." He sticks out his hand, and Titus scrambles forward in his chair, shaking as best he's able ( _I'm sorry, Sulla; after the Seder I'm stealing these chairs and setting them on fire_ ).

Titus glances at Sulla, who grins and tilts her head toward her dad in a "go on" gesture. "I, uh, thank you, Mr. Pinsky," he says.

When Mr. Pinsky lets go of his hand, Titus looks at Mr. Sterling and braces for another seafaring crack. Instead, Mr. Sterling nods and says, "Trang." It's weird, but Titus genuinely believes he's received Alastair Sterling's blessing for dating Sulla. Mr. Sterling rolls his eyes. "Let's wrap this thing up. I can feel myself getting old here."

"Except you're not _getting_ old," Mr. Pinsky teases, but it's a bittersweet jibe that subdues the mood at the table even more until Sulla stands and lifts her glass. The others follow suit, recite the blessing over the wine, and drink.

When Sulla's glass is empty, she puts it down and says, "So, this is the end of the Seder. We definitely do not say 'Next year in Jerusalem' around here. Number one because Middle East politics are a mess, and number two because Brendan is in the middle of a feud with the Ramatkal."

"It's not a _feud_ ," Mr. Pinsky grumbles. Titus notes he's only objecting to Sulla's terminology, not her assertion that he's brought himself into conflict with the head of the Israeli Defense Force. Titus swallows nervously.

"Instead we say, 'Next year in this place.'" Mr. Pinsky and Mr. Sterling echo her in Hebrew, and Titus sits this one out, because he _learned_ 'Next year in Jerusalem,' damn it. Sulla smiles. "And we commit to doing whatever we can to make the world a better place by then."

For a split second, Titus is afraid that Sulla forgot to warn him about something here, that everyone has to make a concrete commitment to the betterment of the world. But Mr. Sterling and Mr. Pinsky say a fervent "Amen," which Titus joins a half-beat too late, and then it's... done. They've been sitting here for close to four hours, and now the whole thing is over with an abruptness that leaves Titus feeling adrift.

"Some years we've played games or watched movies after the Seder," Mr. Pinsky says, "but it's a school night, and Luce and I have an eight o'clock meeting tomorrow."

Titus doesn't dare look at the time, but he's guessing it's close to midnight. His mom lifted his curfew for the night, since there was no way to predict how long the Seder would last. But he doesn't want to run afoul of city curfew, and even though it's not a school night, his family will expect him to get up and function at some point tomorrow. He stands and looks first at Mr. Pinsky, then at Mr. Sterling. "Thank you very much for inviting me tonight," he says as politely as he can. "I had a good time, and I learned a lot."

"You're very welcome, TItus," Mr. Pinsky says. He looks like he's fighting a smile, though Titus isn't sure what he'd be smiling about. "You were a wonderful guest." He glances at Sulla before adding, "Come back any time."

Sulla _vibrates_ next to him, she's so excited. Titus feels giddy, himself. "Thank you, Mr. Pinsky," he says, somehow managing not to sound like a total goober. He turns. "Good night, Mr. Sterling."

Mr. Sterling nods. "Good to see you, Captain." Well, Titus knew that reprieve couldn't last forever. Someday he'll figure out why Mr. Sterling calls him that.

"I'll walk you out?" Sulla offers, and Titus nods.

"Titus," Mr. Pinsky calls, "how are you getting home?"

Titus blinks. "Uh, bus, sir. Same way I got here."

Mr. Pinsky shakes his head no and stabs at his phone screen like it's insulted his mother. "At this hour? You won't get home until 1. Let Dalet drive you."

"Mr. Pinsky, I couldn't possibly—"

"Yes, you could," Sulla says.

"Titus," Mr. Pinsky says with a warmth he's trying to get used to, "let a man fuss over his only child's significant other, please."

Titus raises his hands to surrender, as much to the novelty of Mr. Pinsky _acknowledging_ his and Sulla's relationship as to the offered ride.

"Done," Mr. Pinsky says, pocketing his phone. "Dalet's waiting by the front door. You can always ask for a ride here, too, if you're coming over."

Titus manages to hold off choking on his tongue long enough to say, "Thanks, Mr. Pinsky."

"Good night, Titus," Mr. Pinsky says. He stands and rounds the table to stand beside Mr. Sterling. His hand slides over Mr. Sterling's shoulder, and he leans down to whisper something in his ear that makes Mr. Sterling give a low, smoky laugh that gives Titus feelings he'd much rather not have in relation to his girlfriend's dads.

Titus shudders and slips out of the dining room, where Sulla's waiting for him, floating aimlessly and probably not conscious of doing it. She smiles without artifice when she sees him, touching down and holding out her hand, which he takes gratefully.

Titus appreciates the silence as they walk toward the door. He's talked out for the night. It must be a hundred times worse for Sulla. She gives him a shy smile he hasn't seen from her in quite a while. "Was it okay?" she asks.

"It was perfect," he says.

Sulla beams and swoops in for an enthusiastic kiss. Titus grins and kisses back, reveling in Sulla's warm skin and soft lips and thinking again how lucky he is that she deigned to look at him twice.

He keeps the kiss short, mindful of Dalet standing to the side. Dalet's bigger than Gimel, more... _looming_. It's not that Titus thinks Dalet will report them to Mr. Pinsky and Mr. Sterling, or, at this point, that Mr. Pinsky and Mr. Sterling will _mind_ , but he's aware of the audience, self-conscious in a way he never is around Gimel. Maybe because Gimel is Sulla's best friend and doesn't feel allied to the elder Pinsky the way Dalet does.

"See you this weekend?" Sulla says when TItus pulls away.

"Yeah—shit, no." He groans as harsh reality cuts into his Sulla-and-food buzz. "My grandmother is coming to visit. She's staying all weekend."

"Bring her," Brendan calls, and Titus had had _no idea_ he'd been able to hear their conversation. "Bring your whole family. We'd love to meet them."

Titus blinks and wonders if it can be this easy, two people, two very different lives, slotting together as smoothly as if they'd been made to fit that way. "I'll... ask," he says. Sulla nods, kisses him again, and shoos him out the door, Dalet a strangely disapproving presence at his back.

Titus hasn't taken even a handful of steps away from the house before he remembers something he'd wanted to ask about the water glass for Miriam. He turns back toward the house as the enormous front door clangs ponderously shut. He could go back and ring the bell again. He could pull out his phone and call or text. But he's tired and overwhelmed, stuffed to the gills both gastronomically and culturally. Next year, he promises himself. He'll remember to ask next year.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I do love comments and kudos, if you'd like to leave 'em.
> 
> The "pack of half-feral teenagers" calls Titus "Ty" and uses she/her pronouns. Titus told Sulla she could use he/him pronouns and the name "Titus" and has said that he wants to be "both." Blue Delliquanti, a radiant being too good for this world, confirms that Titus identifies as genderfluid but maybe doesn't realize that bigender is an option. He's still figuring things out. 
> 
> Translation of the Vietnamese text:
> 
>  _I try to remind myself that we haven't promised forever_  
>  _(And even if we had, what's my forever compared to yours?)_  
> 
> Hey, look, here's [my tumblr](http://hugealienpie.tumblr.com/)! And here's that link for _[O Human Star](http://ohumanstar.com/)_ again.


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